


Exemplary Service

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Sexual Roleplay, pleasure slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall and Lavellan like to roleplay that she is his pleasure slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exemplary Service

Vivienne looked startled when Eileen abruptly put down her skein of ale. “Sorry,” she said, almost breathlessly. “I just—I’ve realized— _Creators_.” She uttered a clever oath in Elvish that had Solas’s eyebrows crawling slowly up his forehead. “It’s late.”

“My dear, it’s barely dark. Are you running off to bed so soon?”

In a matter of speaking, yes, but she wasn’t about to say that. “Long day,” she said breathlessly.

“Spent pushing weird little statue things around the War Table, wasn’t it?” Sera asked, leaning heavily on Vivienne’s shoulder.

Vivienne looked as though something had died on her. “Remove yourself, Sera.”

Sera crossed her eyes. “Blah blah,” she said, taking a swig of her ale. “So you.” She raise her skein toward Eileen. “You gotta tell us how it’s been _such_ a long day that you’ve gotta run off all early on us.”

Eileen’s mind tripped over a hundred excuses. All of them seemed paltry. “I’ve just remembered. Paperwork. Letters!” She all but squeaked that word. “ _Letters_ that Josephine needs, uh, lettered.” She was met with flatly unimpressed stares. Her cue to leave. “I’ve things I have to tend to before the day is officially out.” She lurched to her feet, all but scrambling away from the table.

As she fled the tavern, Vivienne called after her, “Darling, the day is quite over,” and Sera cackled, “But I’m not over your tits, Iron Lady.” Cassandra, who Eileen all but tripped over, caught her with a disgusted noise.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” the Seeker asked.

“Letters,” Eileen replied breathlessly, yanking her arm free of Cassandra’s hold and tearing across the courtyard.

She was going to be late. To be fair, the prospect of being late sent a thrill through her, a flare of heat that licked at her clit and made her cunt clench sweetly. The punishment would be so sweet, but, at the same time, she hated to disappoint him.

In record time, she made it to her room, having run at a breakneck speed through the great hall. Trudging across Thedas in heavy mail had made her legs strong, which made her fast, she supposed, though not in the way messengers were supposed to be fast. They had reedier builds than even she did.

Eileen flung open her door, letting it slam behind her, and started tearing off her clothes halfway up the stairs. She didn’t leave them, though, because that would get her in terrible trouble. She paused, holding her smalls in one hand. A wicked smile spread across her face, and she dropped them. “Oops,” she breathed.

Then she was running again, bolting up the rest of the stairs. She dove under her bed, yanking out a beaten up, scarred, worn, and altogether unassuming wooden box. From the box, she removed a delicate, gossamer scrap of fabric that could barely be called clothing. With careful, gentle hands, she draped it around her body. If she rushed with this, her calluses would snag the fabric, ruining it, and that would ruin the game.

The most delightful game she’d ever played. Creators, if her clan could see her now, they would be so deeply ashamed, and she, well. She would probably be even more aroused if they were watching, but this was a game she was happy to keep private. A decadent secret shared between only two.

Dressed, she plucked the last piece of her costume from the box and toed it back under her bed, stuffing her clothes under the bed with the box. She went to the mirror in her room, carefully fixing the leather collar about her throat. 

Then she took stock of herself. Cheeks flushed and red, eyes wide and bright with anticipation – she would have to kill that expression. Her breasts, barely concealed under the loose, flowing fabric of her diaphanous gown, danced with her every breath. He would like that. The gown itself barely covered her, dipping low in the front to reveal her muscled stomach. The hem flirted with her thighs, and there was no hiding the shadow of her cunt.

She heard her door open.

With a gasp, she threw herself to her knees at the foot of her bed, folding her hands in her lap and bowing her head. Through a great force of will, she managed to compose her expression into one filled mostly with loathing. Pretending to hate him was always the hardest part.

His footsteps were heavy on her stairs. Shivers wracked her body, heat pooling between her legs. Biting her lip, she pressed her legs together, trying to ease the ache and failing. She heard him pause, heard the soft puff of his laughter. Then Blackwall was at the top of the stairs and striding toward her.

She chanced a look up at him, keeping her head bowed, and saw her panties clenched in his fist. “This is not how you leave my room, slave,” he said, his voice a rough growl. His face was a mask of anger, his dark brows drawn over blue eyes that glinted with malice. 

A tremor of pleasure swept through her. She pressed her lips into a thin, mulish line, tightening the muscles in her shoulders. Indignation made her rigid.

Cruel fingers grasped her chin, forcing her head back. His eyes blazed with heat, and only part of that was anger. “I said, this is not how you leave my room, slave,” he hissed, squeezing her chin until it hurt and her body ached for him. “And you say?”

“May the Dread Wolf take you,” she spat, jerking her chin free of his fingers.

Black laughter washed over her, and she fixed him with a steely glare. “And here I’d thought we’d have an easy night.” His fingers hooked around the leather collar, pressing against her throat, and he yanked her forward, his mouth crashing against hers in a brutal, demanding kiss.

His teeth bit at her, tugging her lower lip hard enough to hurt, and she whimpered against his mouth.

“My pretty elven whore,” he murmured against her mouth.

A flood of wetness answered those words, and she bit back a moan of delight. 

“Do you remember why you were given to me?” She trembled, curling her hands into fists, trying to keep her face the very picture of disdain. “For exemplary service.” He let her smalls fall from his fist and he buried that hand in her hair, yanking her head back. She couldn’t stop the gasp that burst from her, and she secretly delighted in how her cunt clenched at his manhandling her. “Do you know what I expect from you tonight?” His teeth grazed the column of her throat, making her shudder. 

She was strong, but he was stronger, and though she knew, deep down, that he would never actually hurt her the threat of violence was a potent aphrodisiac. 

“Exemplary service,” she said, her voice strangled.

“Good girl.” He released her hair, pulling back, watching her. “Look at all that loathing.” His blue eyes sparkled with wicked intent, and her body ached, knowing what that gaze meant for her. “Punishment to start with, I think.” 

He yanked her up by her collar, dragging her along with him as he moved to the bed.

Her eyes went wide. “Master, please, no! Forgive me!” she cried as he sat and dragged her into his lap. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Your intent doesn’t matter,” he said, placing one big hand on her mostly naked back. She shivered as he force her over his knees, her ass in the air. “For being careless with your master’s space, five.” His fingers flipped up the hem of her dress, and cool air washed over her naked skin, making it prickle.

She was already tense with anticipation.

“What do you say, slave?”

Swallowing hard, she spit out the words. “Please, Master, correct me.”

“Good girl.”

Creators, those two words did depraved things to her body. It was all she could do to keep from whimpering his name. 

Blackwall’s hand rubbed over her ass, squeezing and cupping her cheeks until she was squirming. Every time he lifted his hand, she tensed, but he didn’t spank her. Was probably too busy enjoying her squirming, if the hardness of his cock against her side was any indication. “Bored, Master?” she snapped.

His hand cracked across her ass and she cried out, shock and pleasure streaking through her to braid around her pain. The feeling went straight to her cunt, and it squeezed uselessly around nothing. 

“Ten, then,” he said, his tone almost cheerful.

She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her fury. “One,” she snarled.

He rubbed her burning cheek before drawing back and slapping her other one. The strike fell with a crack that echoed through the room, and she sucked in a sharp breath. He was in rare form tonight, pushing her to the very edges of what she could take – and she could take quite a lot. She was used to being run down by Venatori and templars and even dragons, but that was different. In the heat of battle, everything was different. 

“Two,” she said, and the word lacked the vehemence of her first count. 

He worked her steadily, and with each slap of his hand against her flesh, she sounded off a number. Or tried to. By five, she was panting, pressing her legs together to hide her wetness and succeeding only in smearing it over her thighs. By seven, she was moaning the numbers even though her ass felt like fire. He rubbed her cheeks between strikes, making her skin prickle, making her swallow wanton moans of need and want. She choked on her sounds of pleasure just as she choked on _eight_ and _nine_. 

Laughing softly, he slapped her ass a tenth time, the strike stinging wickedly, and at the same time he licked her ear from skull to tip. She came with a reedy shriek, the word _ten_ strangled in her throat, pleasure and pain coalescing into a single, beautiful sensation that defied words. 

Two fingers drove into her tight cunt, and she let out another shrill cry of surprise. The sudden fullness was almost too much for her. Her clit throbbed, and her cunt squeezed around him, bearing down on him as he fucked her with his fingers, dragging out her orgasm, taking it from relief to agony.

“Look how much you enjoyed that, slave,” he said, dragging his fingers slowly from her body. She sucked in a sharp breath as he forced her to her knees between his legs. “Suck,” he commanded, pressing his fingers to her lips.

She gave him a vicious, cutting glare, a look that sent most of their enemies running, and he only smirked at her. 

“Suck,” he commanded again, and he pushed his fingers into her mouth.

She obeyed. She sucked him hard, her tongue rubbing over the rough patches of his callused fingers to strip her arousal from his skin. But she kept her eyes on him, kept them narrowed with barely concealed loathing. He grinned at her, a self-satisfied smirk that made her burn – with rage and lust.

Pulling his fingers from her mouth, he wiped them on her cheek. “Pick up your smalls, slave,” he said, and she, stiffly, obeyed. “Put them where they belong.”

As she rose with her smalls in hand, he began stripping his clothes. Her breath quickened in her chest. Usually, he ordered her to remove his clothing. The part of her that was bent to his will felt a flicker of annoyance at being denied something she took pleasure in. So she rebelled by taking her time walking to the dresser, folding her smalls neatly, and tucking them away.

When she turned back to him, he was naked, his clothes piled on the floor at his side. He was magnificent. Broadly muscled, riddled with scars, strong and swarthy and hairy and everything an elf was not. She bit her cheek to keep from licking her lips, regarding him with disdain.

“Let’s try for some humility,” he said, and she shivered. “On your hands and knees, slave.” He dropped onto the bed, leaning against the footboard with keen interest on his face. “Crawl to me and beg for the chance to please me, to make up for your failings.”

She hated crawling. She hated debasing herself for anyone. But for him, she went to her hands and knees, her cheeks burning at the way heat seared her, at the way her cunt rippled and ached to be filled. She started forward slowly, one hand in front of the other, eyes on his.

“You don’t have permission to look at me. Eyes down.”

She cast her eyes to the ground but felt his sliding over her nearly naked body. On her hands and knees, crawling, her small breasts swayed, and her dress did nothing to cover them. She swallowed hard and felt the tight confines of her collar pressing against her throat. More aching need seared her, more wetness pooled between her legs and coated her thighs.

By the time she crawled between his legs, she felt naked and small and so fucking aroused that the slightest touch would set her off. 

“Beg,” he said, and she lifted her eyes to him as he leaned back on the bed, propping himself on one arm. His hand drifted between his legs, curling around the base of his cock. It was huge, his cock, thick and covered in veins, so much larger than any elven man’s. The first time she’d taken him, it had almost been too much. It was still almost too much, a fierce, stretching burn every time he slid into her.

Creators, she loved the burn.

“Please,” she said haltingly as he stroked himself. “M-Master.” She hated that stutter, hated the weakness he brought out in her. “Let me… let me do that for you.” Her voice wavered as she spoke, its cadence breaking on her need to have him filling her, taking her, fucking her. “Let me please you, Master. Let me bring you pleasure.”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over his tip.

“Because I… I disobeyed. I didn’t keep your room neat.” She looked up at him with wide, needy eyes. “Please, Master.” She curled her fingers around each other and swayed toward him. “Please, I need your cock in my mouth.”

“You don’t sound like you mean it, slave,” he said mildly. “I don’t think you really want my cock stretching that tiny mouth of yours.”

Anxiety stole her breath. Had she done something wrong again? Was he going to deny her? “Please,” she breathed, earnestly meaning it. “Please, Master, let me suck your cock. Please fuck my mouth. Please use me.”

His hand left his cock to grasp her hair, dragging her mouth to him. He forced her onto his cock, pushing her mouth down until she choked on him and her nose brushed against his abdomen. Above her, he swore, and her body rippled and clenched with need.

She sucked him eagerly, his whore desperate to please him. Eventually, he would pull her off and she would sneer at him and deny loving the way his cock stretched her mouth, but until that point she would give him everything. She didn’t try for clever or controlled, she licked and sucked him with wild abandon. Her saliva soaked his skin and dripped down the sides of his cock. What her mouth couldn’t cover, she stroked with eager hands.

His fingers tightened in her hair. “Deeper, slave,” he murmured, voice throaty and thick with desire.

She felt a flare of immense satisfaction, pleasure that _she_ was the one who heard that tone of voice, that she was the one who brought him ecstasy. 

Gliding down his cock, she took him deeper, as deep as she could. She did her best to relax her throat, but he was too big for her. Jerking back, gasping, she licked his tip, swirled her tongue around his head and tasted the bead of precum on him. Another shudder wracked her, and her fingers trembled around him.

Worse, he lifted his other hand to her ear and stroked the shell of it. She moaned around him, squeezing her eyes shut as though that would stave off her pleasure.

“You like this,” he growled in that low, rumbling voice that went straight to her cunt. “You like being forced to enjoy sucking my cock while I play with your ears.” Creators, he would kill her if he started whispering filth to her. “You’re probably so wet I could pound that tight cunt of yours right now.” She was. Oh, was she ever. “Fuck you so hard you scream.” His one hand tightened on the back of her head, his other flicked the tip of her ear, spicing her pleasure with a twinge of pain that just made the pleasure sweeter. “Maker, you’re a filthy slut. Do your lips burn when you suck me? Am I too big for your little mouth?”

She dragged her tongue up his length. He pushed her back down, holding her against him until she struggled, trying to free herself. Then he yanked her off him, his cock slipping out her mouth with an obscene, wet pop.

“Tell me you liked that, slut.”

She sneered. “Halla shit tastes better than your dick,” she snarled. 

He yanked her close, dropping his hand from her ear to her collar. “I don’t believe you.” He released her hair, sliding his hand over her breasts. The gossamer fabric of her gown rubbed like silk against her skin. “Your nipples are hard.” He tweaked one, then the other, and she gasped with pain and pleasure both, trying to pull away. He drew her closer, his breath washing over her face. “How wet are you, slut?”

“Bone dry,” she hissed.

His fingers delved between her legs. “Sopping, like the whore you are.” He brushed his thumb over her clit, pushing one finger into her with brutal force. She cried out, but it was pleasure in her voice, not pain. “Get up here.” He dragged her into his lap, and for a second, he held her, his hands gentle, his eyes raking over her with careful consideration.

Then he shifted into the middle of the bed and pulled her with him by her collar. She gasped, almost choking, as he drew her into his lap so that she straddled him. His cock was a hot brand between her legs, rubbing against her swollen cunt. A whimper escaped her as he grabbed her hips, maneuvering her over him until his tip pressed against her entrance. 

“Ride me,” he commanded.

She turned away, snubbing him.

His hand cracked against her ass, and she cried out, her hips rocking over his cock so that he slid slightly into her. The stretch of just his tip was like fire, and her hands flew to his chest. She braced herself against him but pretended to push at him, shoving hard. “Don’t you dare stick that in me,” she snapped, trying to wriggle off him. The pressure of his hands on her hips forced her down, and her wiggling pushed him deeper into her.

She struggled until he was all the way in her, until his pubic bone hit her clit and tore a gasp from her. “Ride me,” he commanded, his fingers bruising her hips. He jerked her against him, lifting one hand to loop around her collar. With his fingers curled around the leather, he dragged her mouth to his, forcing a punishing kiss on her.

She refused to move, turning her face away from him, and his beard scratched at her cheeks. She loved the burn of the coarse hair all over her body, loved how it tickled her thighs when she sat astride him. Loved it even more when she moved against him. But she remained strong, gritting her teeth against the pleasure of his cock filling her more than any elf ever could. Creators, she was ruined for elves.

As if he could read her mind, he broke off their kiss to ask, “Did any of your elven lovers ever fuck you so well?” 

“You’re not doing so great a job of it right now,” she snapped.

With a dark laugh, he arched under her, grinding himself into her. “Ride me, slave, or I will beat you black and blue.”

Caught. She was caught. She couldn’t displease him. It went against her nature to upset him too badly. It was one thing to play, but another thing to provoke him, so she moved, as if hesitant, rocking her hips against his slowly.

A gasp escaped her.

“That’s right,” he rumbled, urging her to roll her hips against his again. “Ride my cock, slave.”

She did. She couldn’t help herself. Arching against him, she lifted her body and slid it back down, her cunt clenching around him. He leaned back, content to watch, to let her do all the work, and she was more than happy to service him, to be the body that pleased him. She braced her hands on his chest, working him slowly, taking him deep, watching him watch her. His eyes were fixed on the place his cock disappeared into her body.

As she rode him, he groaned softly, quietly, as though he couldn’t help himself, and heat washed through her. _She_ was doing that. _She_ was giving him pleasure. _She_ was the source of his happiness. 

“Faster,” he commanded, fingers shifting to dig into her ass. He urged her to move, to roll her hips against his, and she did. She obeyed because she was helpless not to. She was trapped in the same spiral she always fell into, the one where his ecstasy fed her own, and the only thing she wanted to do was give him more of herself. His hand on her ass was as much a sign of ownership as the bruises she’d wear in the morning, as the collar around her throat. He owned her completely.

“That’s it, slave.” Her cunt clenched around him at the word, and he groaned again. “No. Don’t come. Not until I do.”

She whimpered, loving and hating him. It was always better when he forced her to stave off her orgasm, always more explosive. More brutally intense. But it was so hard for her not to come when he was inside her, when she moved over him, when she danced like a whore on his cock for his pleasure. And he made it worse. His hand slid over her hip, dipping between their bodies, and his thumb brushed over her clit.

“No!” she gasped, arching away from him, his cock sliding against her inner muscles in a new, more delicious way than before.

“Yes,” he snarled, dragging her back by her collar. “You’re not allowed to come, slave, but you’ll bear this.” He flicked her clit with his thumb, rubbed over it, circled it and tormented her with ripples and lances of fire and want. 

She gasped, sobbing, “Master, Master, please,” as she broke to his will, as she faltered under his rough, knowing touch. She rocked against him harder, faster, desperate to bring him the pleasure he needed. She wanted to see his brows contact, his lips part. Wanted to hear him gasp her name – he always said her name when he came, like a secret sin shared between only them – and feel him flood her with his seed. “Please,” she wailed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he finally shifted so that he was moving inside her, too, so she wasn’t doing all the work.

“That’s it,” he murmured, and his praise nearly undid her. “Maker, yes. Yes, like that.” 

His words of adulation were like physical caresses against her skin and she shivered, shuddered, trembled for him. His thumb still brushed over her, a fleeting touch that was driving her slowly mad with pleasure. She could feel her orgasm, a burning tightness in her cunt, and she keened. “Master, please,” she whispered with desperation edging her voice.

“Keep moving,” he commanded her.

Creators, if she came, he would be furious, but she didn’t think she could obey him. She didn’t think she could keep moving with him touching her and _not_ come.

“Please,” she moaned, and he dragged her mouth against his, not kissing her, just holding her there.

“Not before me.” His voice was like ironwood, strong and unyielding, and it destroyed her.

With a cry of abandon, she came, her body clenching around his. It was the sweetest sort of agony. Heat washed through her, blinding her to everything but pleasure, except for the small part of her that recoiled in horror at her disobedience. “I’m so sorry,” she heard herself whispering. “So sorry, so sorry, Master, please.”

“Disobedient slaves are punished,” he growled, his voice tight, and he slapped her ass, hard. With a cry, she jerked against him, over him, and she saw the telltale clench of his jaw, the momentarily tightening in his brow.

He spanked her again, and her pleasure built with the pain, the two sensations twining together to threaten her with ecstasy once more. Gritting her teeth, she worked herself over him, needing to make him come, needing to be the one to bring him that pleasure. 

And when he finally did, he kissed her, whispering her name into her mouth, and it was perfect. It was completion. It was joy and fulfillment all in a single, wonderful moment. She felt his cock jerk inside her, felt the flood of warmth that was his seed, and then he was still. Just breathing.

He slid his hands into her hair, still kissing her. He drank from her lips, the kiss gentle and sweet. “Good girl,” he whispered, and she sank against his chest, relieved she’d pleased him. “Exemplary.”

The fingers of one hand dropped to her collar, and he released it. The cool wash of air against her neck made her whimper. She always hated the moment he took the collar off her and set it aside. He lifted her, his strength making pleasure echo through her in a muted sort of way, pulling out of her. He drew her back into his arms and cradled her against him as he stretched across their bed.

“Good?” he asked.

“I’m not going to be able to sit a horse tomorrow,” she groused, but she lifted her face to his for a kiss. He obliged her. Went one step further by brushing a knuckle over the shell of her ear.

“Maybe we should stay in and you can ride me instead, my lady.”

Wicked heat curled through her. “Maybe we could.”

And maybe they did. They ventured out of her room briefly near midday, swinging by the tavern to eat a quick meal. Her mind was still so wrapped up in their games that she didn’t start eating until he did, and when he noticed, he flashed her a smile and murmured, “Good girl.”

Vivienne, who was on her way out the door, paused, her brows lifting. “My, my, darling, I imagine those letters you’re lettering must be quite interesting.”

They both went scarlet, but Vivienne left without another word.


End file.
